Chapter 81: The Assassin’s Shattered Dream (Please Continue Reading)

“My contribution is much greater than yours—I was the first to discover it and call the police.”
“Then you really did make a big contribution.”
Mark and Ozzie were bickering, but Ozzie instantly lost interest. “What exactly happened? When I saw him, that officer had no idea what was coming.”
“I don’t know much either.” Mark glanced around and lowered his voice. “I heard Homeland Security was investigating something, tracked down this car and its driver. For some reason, they didn’t tail the car themselves but instead called CHP to stop and check it.
But they didn’t warn us that the guy was extremely dangerous and armed, so the officer probably wasn’t prepared...”
“Bullshit! Where are the Homeland Security people? Can we just let them get away with this?”
“Of course we can’t let them off so easily. The reason there are so many police here is because everyone’s been informed behind the scenes. We’re showing our unity and strength to put pressure on them, so they know we’re not to be trifled with. That way, our upper management has a better position when they negotiate.”
“And what will come out of these talks?”
“How would I know? I’m just a regular cop. But once something is decided, word will leak out, and we’ll find out then.”
“So, am I on administrative leave?”
“I’m not sure either. Better call Carles and ask.”
“Is there anything you do know? What’s the use of talking to you?”
Seeing he wouldn’t get any information from Mark, Ozzie turned around and got into his car, leaving Mark rolling his eyes in exasperation.
Ozzie slowly drove off the highway. He hadn’t fired his gun, only followed from behind. He wasn’t on duty, had no law enforcement authority, and was just a concerned citizen, so he could simply leave. Aside from wasting a bit of time, there was nothing else to it.
He headed home, and this time the journey was uneventful; he returned to his apartment without incident.
Zhuo Ning went to wash up, while Ozzie quickly called Carles to ask if he should report to work or if he was on administrative leave.
Carles told him directly to take leave, though the duration was uncertain.
A gang conflict resulting in over a dozen deaths was a huge deal—all officers who fired their weapons were to be placed on leave. They needed to clarify exactly who shot whom, because the public simply didn’t believe the police only killed four people.
With over twenty police officers on the scene, only four deaths? Only a fool would buy that.
The coroner’s office had to issue a report. Based on preliminary findings, Ozzie hadn’t killed anyone—though he had wounded some, none were fatal.
That was certain; he’d never intended to kill anyone with his service weapon.

Since he hadn’t killed anyone, Ozzie could theoretically return to duty immediately. But to be safe, he would wait until the full coroner’s report cleared him of any fatalities. If another urgent situation arose, though, he might be called back early.
The special circumstance was that over two hundred firearms and rounds of ammunition had been seized at the scene, and each item had to be accounted for. No one knew how many cases and suspects would emerge—it could blow up at any moment.
After hanging up, Ozzie had an idea—maybe he could use this opportunity to stir things up.
He glanced at the bathroom, but decided to take care of his woman first.
“Hey! What are you doing in here?”
“Turn around—I’ll scrub your back for you, in case you can’t reach.”
“If you’re going to scrub, scrub. Why are your hands wandering down there?”
“I’m just being thorough.”
Time slipped away, year after year, in the indifferent universe of heaven and earth, where passion reigned and exhaustion consumed them.
Zhuo Ning collapsed, her legs weak and trembling, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Learning from past mistakes, Ozzie put on gloves and loaded all the spare magazines for his black-market gun. He pulled on a black hoodie and matching pants and shoes—clothes he’d never worn before—and stuck a black facial mask to his face. Then he climbed out the window, edged along the ledge to the first floor, and slipped away.
After walking a few blocks, he casually took an unlocked bicycle from the side of the road and pedaled toward Ridgecrest Street.
He’d learned about this place from other officers chatting during the day. The Lomas 13 leader who’d negotiated earlier—Carmen Hernandez—lived there.
But apparently, Hernandez wasn’t the gang boss, just the number three, in charge of some external affairs. Still, it was enough.
Ozzie planned to take him out—first, because scum like that deserved to die, and second, to spark a major turf war between the two gangs.
Bloods and Crips were likely to erupt into violence, and if these two started fighting, things would get interesting.
The more chaos, the more opportunities he’d have to shoot legally. And if things got wild enough, administrative leave would be out of the question—a perfect outcome.
Although Hernandez lived in Monterey Park, not far from Ozzie’s place, cycling there was still tiring.
It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, so he hadn’t prepared a getaway car. Stealing one didn’t bother him, but without keys, he couldn’t start it. If he hadn’t found an unlocked bike, he would’ve had to walk.
Twenty minutes later, Ozzie arrived at a neighborhood—a mixed community with all kinds of immigrants, a chaotic place where houses were close together and neighbors could hear everything.

He wondered why the gang’s number three lived here—was he really that short on cash?
He hid the bike, silently reciting “Carl Hernandez” in his mind. Guided by instinct, he looked toward a house in the distance.
Ozzie crept through the backyard shadows, moving silently to avoid tripping over scattered objects.
He crouched beside Hernandez’s house, carefully checking the ground and spotting some traps, which he skillfully avoided before entering the yard.
I’m in. Seems I have a knack for being an assassin—if only I had a silencer, it’d be perfect.
But before he could savor the moment, a shrill alarm pierced the air.
“INTRUDER! INTRUDER!”
What the hell? Ozzie looked around and finally spotted an infrared alarm by the fence.
Seriously? A gang member with a backyard alarm? How embarrassing.
Inside, all the lights blazed on, and a clamor erupted. Grinding his teeth—he’d come this far—he had to fire a couple of shots.
He drew his black-market pistol and fired through the wooden wall, shooting as he moved for cover.
Angry shouts—unintelligible, from several different men—rose from inside, followed by bullets ripping through the walls toward him.
So many people living here—crowded, isn’t it? Ozzie fired toward the voices, emptying two magazines. When the system notified him he’d killed two, he nodded in satisfaction and ran.
As he fled, people poured out of surrounding buildings, some carrying guns.
Ozzie didn’t hesitate—anyone nearby holding a gun, he shot on sight, taking down several more. By the time he escaped the neighborhood, the system showed a total of five kills.
He’d killed more curious bystanders than the intended target tonight.
Don’t be a bystander—nothing good ever comes of it.